Book Hero

“Did you know Grampy is a super hero?” I asked my brother, Jesse, one day when we were at my grandparent’s house.

“Grampy isn’t a super hero, Brandy,” my mom laughed. “He drives the bookmobile.”

I had no idea what a bookmobile actually was, but I envisioned him driving around in a vehicle similar to an ice cream truck. Instead of people lining up to ask him for a double scoop vanilla cone, they would say, “Can I have a Judy Blume with a few sprinkles of Gordon Korman, please?”

Grampy would disappear into the back of his bookmobile, like Clark Kent jumping into phone booths, and emerge magically with “How to Eat Fried Worms” or “Julie of the Wolves.” I was sure he would hand over books to excited children with a smile and a tip of his hat.

I thought people could just phone up the library and order a book to have delivered to their door like pizza.

“Can I have some Babysitters’ Club books today, please, and maybe a few Nancy Drew mysteries on the side?”

Library books were magic to me, and my grandfather was the magician.

I felt like Charlie finding the last ticket to the chocolate factory every time we went to visit my grandparents. I imagined a stack of books waiting for me to breathe life and imagination into them.

“Grampy, do you have any new books for me?” I asked him as soon as he got home.

He nodded and quietly led me to the back room where books kept their tales hidden beneath tempting covers. I would choose a few beckoning paperbacks; make myself comfortable and decide which book would cast its spell on me first.

The words captivated me and I thought about the hundreds of people that must have turned the same pages. Had they laughed when Anne dyed her hair green at Green Gables; did they tremble when Will was chased by Tripods on his journey to the White Mountains?

Each book would have a mysterious word stamped on it in bold, black ink: discarded.

“What does ‘discarded’ mean, Grampy?” I asked.

“It means the library can’t use them anymore,” he said.

I felt like Fern must have when her mother told her what was going to happen to the baby pig in the barn.

“But, what’s wrong with them?” I cried.

“They’re worn out or damaged from being read so many times.”

“And no one wants them anymore?” I could not believe this injustice. Precious books cast away because they had been loved too much?

“Well, I know someone who wants them,” Grampy said with a smile. “Why do you think I bring them home? I know a girl who’s a great reader.”

“You rescue books, Grampy! I told Jesse you were a super hero!” I said earnestly and proudly.

And, like Fern running to save Wilbur from harm, I made it my mission to read as many discarded books as possible. It was my duty to give them one more moment of glory.

Grampy may have not known how to fly and he might not have had x-ray vision; but I’m positive he had a cape. All super heroes do.